The Ravenwood Chronicles

Chapter 7- Sewn Lips Keep the Dead Quiet

“This is a marvelous home, Diana,” Dean said, admiring the house, “You must have spared no expense.” He wasn’t wrong. I had spent most of the money replicating the previous mansion.

“Yes, I wanted it to be reminiscent of my past home,” I replied. I made a show of looking him over, as a doctor would do during a check-up. I molded my face into a look of worry.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You don’t look well, Mr. Dux, have you been feeling alright?” I inquired, filling as much worry in my spelling. It actually didn’t look like he’d been completely healthy as of late. I could see the signs. He wasn’t dying of his sickness, yet.

“In truth, I have not. I seem to have contracted a cold or something. I think I’ll be alright, however. I feel fit enough to continue working!” He said. 

‘That’s what you think, old man,’ I thought to myself. I gave a small smirk, which brought a questioning look to his face.

“Well, I have just the thing to help you feel right as rain! We’ll need to head to my laboratory, however, and you must promise to not tell anyone,” I said, in answer to his look. 

“I promise. How much?” he responded.

“For you, its absolutely free,” I replied. He looked pleased, and followed me to my lab. It was in the basement, not necessarily to muffle screams as I rarely kill in my own home, but it would work just as well. The stairs down dim, save for the candles every few meters.

The laboratory had a mess of test tubes and flasks on one of the tables, on the other, an organised mass of herbs. It was lit rather brightly compared to the stairway. He marveled at it.

“So, this is where the famous Ravenwood medicines and poultices are made?” he inquired.

“Yes, each one made specifically to the patient’s illness. You seem to be suffering from more than a cold, but I’m not sure what it is. Tell me the symptoms you have,” I said. Dean listed off his symptoms: a cough, a runny nose, an aching back. 

As he speaks, I nod as I put in a different herb. I actually did put in the herbs that would clear up his symptoms. After he finished, I put in the finishing touches, namely the Dead Tongue and Bloodroot, and I handed it to him after I had finished the poison.

“I’d prefer you take it here, so I’ll know if I didn’t just make it worse,” I said.

“Does the medicine sometimes not work?” Dean asked, worry flashed across his face. He took the poison all the same, and soon started to feel the effects.

After the first few moments, I could see the agony flash across his face. He was in great pain, but it would not kill him. I had only put enough of the deadly herbs to incapacitate him. I had other plans on his death.

“I think it’s making it worse. I also seemed to have developed an excruciating stomach pain,” Dean moaned, “What herbs did you put in, anyway?”

“Oh, an Echinacae flower, some Feverfew, a Dead Tongue stalk, and a Bloodroot,” I said, filling the last two ingredients with malice. Shock filled his face. Even if you had no knowledge about herbs, you’d know that Dead Tongue and Bloodroot are deadly.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t give you enough to kill. I’ve only kept you from escaping. That wouldn’t due, when death now has you in her grip,” I continued.

“You’re going to kill me?” Dean asked with a groan. The intense pain he seemed to be in was evident on his face. He started going pale. Had I put too much in? Or did he just have a low tolerance? Either way, he body didn’t seem to be fighting the poison as it should’ve been. He was losing consciousness fast.

I took one of the scalpels from the table and slowly pressed into his back. He screeched in pain. The pain seemed to keep him from going further into shock. It was an unholy sound, a sound filled with pain and fear, and it exhilarated me. I loved the rush I got from killing, but I don’t do it often enough to go crazy with the addiction. 

I continued pushing it into his skin until blood welled up around the small blade. I twisted it, and Dean screamed again. I didn’t hit anything vital, so this wasn’t going to kill him. 

I pulled the scalpel out, and then grabbed a thin needle. I threaded it with a silver thread, and then, while he was still conscious, I sewed his lips shut. He fought the needle as best he could, but he couldn’t do anything to stop me in his weakened state. 

“You won’t be able to tell any tales, even from the grave,” I said evilly, “No one heard you scream, and no one will hear you turn over in your grave.” Dean let out a muffled scream, and I laughed.

“You still think anyone will be able to hear you? No one will, not this far underground. Any chance you had to catch me in the act has just vanished before your very eyes!” I said. I still had the needle in my hand, and I plunged it into his right eye. He screamed with so much force that he almost ripped through the stitching.

I left the needle in his eye, and grabbed a small cleaver from the other side of the lab. As I walked back, he regarded me with a fear so intense, so primal, he gained the strength to run. His adrenaline didn’t help him, however, as I threw the cleaver with perfect aim towards his back, where it sank into his back.

He fell to the floor. As I walked over, I could see the tears streaming down his face. His primordial fear no longer able to help him as I had thrown the cleaver in such a way as to sever his spinal cord.

I crouched down slowly, low enough so that I was an few centimeters from his face. I smiled at the thought that I had caused this much pain and suffering to him. Dean’s eyes searched my face for any sign of sympathy or compassion, but, finding none, he sobbed knowing what was coming.

I wrenched the cleaver from his back. His groaned, resigned to his death. He just lay there sobbing like a child. Unable to defend himself, knowing he had been bested, beaten. 

I brought the cleaver up, and brought it down over his throat. I didn’t put enough force behind it to behead him, but it did kill him. The deed had been done. Blood pooled around the body, and rats scurried to nibble at the body. It seems I’ve found my method of disposal.

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AN: So, we have our first in depth look at one of Diana's murders. She is pretty ruthless when she needs to be. As always please leave me any criticisms you may have(without being rude), I can't get better without it. I truly hope you enjoy reading what I've written.